It's
almost 3 o' clock, and I'm pacing about like a cat on hot bricks. Although
dinner is for 6 o' clock, the invitation to Michael and the Bourne's was for
them to arrive at three so we could have an informal afternoon together before
dinner, and Mother is preparing a few hors d'oeuvres to tide us over before the
main meal.

"For
goodness sake, Stuart, will you please stop doing that and give me a hand with
these sausage rolls. Stop worrying. They will be here! It's all arranged. Mr
Bourne would have telephoned us if there was a problem, and Michael accepted
the invitation, didn't he?"

"Sorry,
Mother. Can I have one of those sausage rolls? They look delicious."

"No-you-can-not!
Keep your fingers off! I'll tell you what you can do... go to your room and play
some music on that infernal machine you have up there. And keep the noise down!
You know how it upsets your father. Just go!"

I
giggle, and go up to my room and put some records on the Dansette, and then
make sure my bedroom is especially tidy. From my collection, I pick up the
Corgi Talbot Lago racing car that Michael gave me as a birthday present, and
kiss it. I smile at the thought that I'd already got one, but I would never
tell Michael that. The other one is in my school satchel, waiting to be swapped
for something else with one of the other boys at school. I place the one Michael
gave me, at the front of the collection – the place of honour.

I
thought Michael would have been angry at me with all the scheming I'd done when
we walked down the hill on Monday evening. But he hadn't been. Instead, there was
an unusual air to his demeanour; a sort of pride in who he was, and he carried
himself with a confidence that I liked. We talked about what had happened
during the day, and he even told me that he was really looking forward to
visiting my home, and when I told him I'd been fretting all day about the
situation, his response was to put his hand on my shoulder, look me directly in
the eyes, and tell me that he loved me. And just before I got on the bus, he
handed me a note.

My dear Stuart.

I love you with every beat of
my heart, and there is nothing I won't do for you.

Your ever loving friend,

Michael. XXX

When I
read it, I had to turn my face to the window so the other passengers wouldn't
see the tears running down my cheeks.

Butterflies
are swarming in my tummy when I hear the crunch of tyres on the gravel drive,
and I dash to the front bedroom to catch a glimpse of them. Its Mr Bourne's
car: a blue and silver Armstrong Siddeley Saphire. Father will be
impressed. He loves his cars. I dash downstairs to greet them.

Father
has beaten me to it, and I have to stand back to allow them to enter the hall.
Mother joins me. Mrs Bourne is first. She's beautiful, with lovely, styled,
blonde hair. She's most polite to Mother, and when she takes my hand, the smile
she gives me is a genuinely warm one.

Mr
Bourne is next, and after he's greeted Mother and Father, instead of shaking my
hand, he clips me around the ear, and grins like a Cheshire Cat; and then winks
at me. "Hello young Master Begbie. It's good to see you."

I give
him a conspiratorial grin. "It's good to see you too, Sir."

When I
look at Michael, I'm astounded. Gone is the schoolboy; instead, dressed
superbly, I see a most handsome young man. I thought Michael would make an
effort for me, but `an effort' is Michael wearing highly polished mid-brown
shoes, light-brown trousers with a crease that would cut you to the quick, a
mixture of various tans in his tweed sports jacket, and a white shirt with a
brown tie that matches his jacket, and all this matches perfectly with his
brown hair and fantastic hazel eyes. He looks a million dollars, and inside, I
congratulate the tailor who has suited him out. He's so beautiful that I have
to fight desperately to stop flinging myself into his arms and kissing the
living daylights out of him. Instead, I grin at him, and shake his hand.

We
spend an hour familiarising ourselves, and it goes superbly. I don't understand
what's happened, but my shy Michael is nowhere to be found! The confident young
man who has replaced him, charms the ladies, and is on a par with the men. I
feel almost abandoned, except, occasionally, Michael looks into my eyes,
smiles, and I rediscover his love every time he does it. It's Mother who,
inadvertently, rescues me from my torment.

"Stuart,
why don't you show Michael that infernal machine you had for your birthday?
That record player thing."

Michael
butts in. "Ah! The Dansette that plays four records consecutively, and has
legs, and cost twenty-three guineas. I've heard about this famous machine. Yes,
I would like to see it, if only to put myself out of my misery wondering how
beautiful it is. You never stop boasting about it, Stuart."

Although
I'm laughing, as is everyone else at Michael's comment, I feel I need to match
Michael in this small battle. "It's better than the one you've got."

Michael
grins. "Indeed it is. Actually, I haven't even got a wind up one, but I have
got a wireless, which works if Alex remembers to have the battery charged.
There's nothing worse than listening to Ray's a Laugh, and halfway through it,
it goes... He's lovely, Mrs Hoskins; he's lovely." Whilst he's speaking,
Michael's voice changes from his normal pitch, to a deep one that eventually,
fades out.

Tears
are streaming down my face at Michael's joke, and the adults are greatly amused
by it, too, and we're still laughing as I lead Michael out of the room and up
the stairs to my bedroom, the place I've wanted to get him into since I first
saw him at the doorway when he arrived.

*********

When
the boys leave the room, Stuart's father pours drinks, and we sit on the brown
leather sofas and chat. I smile to myself as I hear music coming from upstairs.
I'm in little doubt that the music will be some sort of cover for them to share
their occasional passions in some way, and I determine to make sure nobody
disturbs them while they're up there. My role as Michael's adopted father and
protector has many facets. Stuart's father addresses me first.

"They
get on well, those two, don't you think, Leslie?"

I look
at Stuart's father, and nod. "Yes Cameron, indeed they do. Young Stuart is a
fine young man, and you and Anne should be proud of him. Did he tell you how
they met?"

Anne
smiles. "Yes he did. Fighting... wasn't it?"

I
laugh. "Yes, and he took on a boy older and bigger than himself, and he beat
him. I really wanted to hug him, but I had to give him detention instead."

I shrug
my shoulders. "I would have had to have expelled half the school had I punished
every boy who had no respect for Michael, simply because of his background.
It's a cruel world."

Anne
speaks again. "You're very fond of Michael then, Leslie?"

"Ever
since I first saw the poor waif as an eleven year old. I've done my best for
him, and, thankfully, he's survived. Now, he's like the son Angela and I could
never have. Well, to me he is. This is the first time Angela has met him."

Angela
puts her hand on my arm. "I think he's a splendid young man, and I'm not too
happy that Leslie has not introduced us before. He's certainly a handsome young
man. I reckon with a bit of help from a few people, he can be directed into a
far better life than he has now, and then we can sort out a suitable young lady
who will finish the job off nicely." She smiles at Anne. "Behind every good
man; etcetera. What do you think Anne?"

Mrs
Begbie smiles. "I think you might just be right, Angela. At the moment, it
looks as though there are five of us of the same mind. Certainly, Stuart thinks
well enough of him to use his crafty wiles to get him noticed. He's like his
father, is Stuart."

I
laugh. "Yes, Stuart came to me like a poor waif in distress, manipulating me to
have a word with Michael to accept the invitation. He knew he wouldn't
be able to do it, so he used me. That boy of yours is wise beyond his years,
and he'll go far in life. It wasn't easy getting Michael to come here. I had to
spell out a few hard facts about life before he got the message. He's so
stubbornly proud, that it gets in the way of his progress. However, now I've
got him here, I hope we can all agree to help him?"

Cameron
picks up his whisky, and looks at me. "We've already got Sir Clarence hooked on
the task. The small matter of Michael's father being a former Chindit, and
holder of the VC, and he was in Sir Clarence's unit in Burma, was all the
bait Stuart needed to catch him. Stuart thinks I'm ignorant of what he's doing,
but he has a way to go before he's as crafty as his father."

I'm
serious when I look at Cameron. "I hope you're in it for the long haul,
Cameron. Those two are very close, and I reckon we're watching the budding of
one of those special life-long friendships that are sometimes born of shared
adversity. In this case, I think it's one, bless him, of deep compassion from
Stuart, and adversity from Michael. And, as well as the qualities of grit and
determination when his back is to the wall, Michael is one of the most loyal
young men I've ever known. Stuart's reward will be a friend who will never let
him down."

Cameron
raises his glass. "I'll drink to that. To friendship that will never let you
down."

We all
clink our glasses, and then settle back to talk about other personal issues,
rather than the boys. After a very short while, I hear the music stop, and soon
after, I hear howls of laughter echoing from above. I can relax slightly now.

Stuart's
mother, Anne, smiles. "They seem to be having a good time up there."

I
smile an innocent smile back at her. "Now you know what Angela and I have to
put up with at our two schools. Boys will be boys."

*********

We're
in my room. I close the door and push the sliding lock across - which I'd had
to grease up during the week because it had never been used - and I've got my
arms locked around Michael's neck, and we're kissing passionately. If I had any
doubts that Michael had changed, he dispels them with the manner he kisses me,
and the strength of his embrace, and especially the way he's got his hands on
my buttocks and is pulling me into him. I've been planning this moment since
Michael first said he would come to dinner, and after the first crushing passions,
I prise him away from me and start the record player that has already been
loaded with four records as part of my plan. The music begins, and I get the
Vaseline and my trusty cloth from the drawer. We can't use the bed; it will be
too noisy. Instead, I lead Michael to the wall by the door, give him the cloth
and the Vaseline, drop my trousers and underpants to my ankles, and bend over
and lean against the wall with my butt sticking out. Within a few seconds,
Michael has dropped his own trousers and underpants, and has greased me up, and
I feel his engorged cock penetrate me. His hand, holding the cloth, comes under
me, and I feel it wrap around my rock hard cock to catch the spunk, which I and
he know, will soon be spurting from me.

Michael's
cock passes over my tickling spot, and my entire body shudders at the seismic
intensity of the sensations. And he begins to fuck me. Michael knows my
sexuality well by now, and after some gentle, loving words, I feel the wonder
of my lover planting his spunk deep inside me, and my own spunk squirts into
the cloth.

We
clean up and dress; the music stops, and I unlock the door. Now, I can feast on
the company of my man, who, once I've drained him of his hot spunk, is as
important to me as the lust we've just shared.

We're
both grinning at the risk we've just taken as we kiss and cuddle. There's a
devilish look in Michael's hazel eyes, and I ask him what he's thinking, and I
see the shy side of my lover again. I have to ask him again before he answers
me, and when he does, he's embarrassed.

"Is
that what you'd call a `record fuck'?"

I just
can't help it, I howl with laughter, and soon, both of us are in stitches at
his remark. When we've stopped laughing, Michael takes my hand.

"May I
look around?"

I look
at him, slightly puzzled. "Of course you can. What a strange request."

Michael
gives me that warm smile I love so much. "No, I meant, can I really
look around? I want to go everywhere in this room."

Now I
understand. "Yes. There's nothing private I want to keep from you. Do what you
want."

Still
holding my hand, Michael is into everything. He opens drawers and takes out
clothes and kisses them, and wafts his fingers over my collection of model
racing cars. He opens the wardrobe, and strokes the clothes hanging in there. I
notice that he's shielding his eyes from me, and I manoeuvre myself to see why.
His eyes are misty, so I take his arm and hug it to me, and lean my head
against his shoulder, and rub my cheek over the fabric covering the man I love.
He loosens his arm and places it around my shoulder, and hugs me, and then
holds my hand again before continuing his inspection. Finally, he looks at the
bed, and then looks at me. I nod. He pulls back the covers, and lies in it, and
kisses my pillows. When he gets out, he takes me in his arms, and looks deep
into my eyes.

"When
you go to bed tonight, I'll be with you."

I
smile up at him. "I know. You're with me every night."

We
kiss long, and slowly. A loving kiss; a kiss to reaffirm what we both know...
our love is so deep that even when we're apart, we're still together in spirit.
We share the most beautiful of all loves.

Michael
scuffs me on the chin, and there's amusement in his eyes. "We'd better go back down
to them now, or they might think we're up to something."

I
giggle. "Yes, I think we'd better. Just tell me one more time that you love
me."

Michael
is serious when his eyes stare into mine. "I love you, Stuart Begbie of the
Magic Cap, and I'm going to do whatever it takes to make sure we're together as
often as possible." Then his eyes twinkle. "But I'm not joining the bloody army
for you or anybody else!" He winks. "But they won't know that."

For an
answer, I grin, and stick my tongue out at him.

**********

Stuart
and I walk back down the stairs, and when we walk into the lounge, all heads
turn to look at us. Stuart's father speaks first. "Well, Michael, did you like
the Dansette that cost twenty-three guineas?"

I grin
at him. "I reckon it was the legs that put the price up, Sir. You should have
come to me. I could have got you a nice wind up one for a quarter of the
price."

He
laughs, and I see that he likes my sense of humour, and I file that away for future
use. I reckon, when they meet, Alex will have him rolling on the floor. There
are three large leather sofas in the room, and Stuart and I sit on the vacant
one... not close together, of course. I look at Mr Bourne, and I can tell by the
look in his eyes that he's amused at what's going on, and I'm pretty sure he
knows Stuart and I haven't just been listening to music while we were in
his bedroom. We spend the time before dinner chatting about various things, and
I do my damndest to act as grown up as possible. I need to do that, to create a
barrier between Stuart and I. The bigger the barrier, the less they will
suspect there are no barriers between us. I can tell by Stuart's face that he
knows full well what I'm doing, and I don't get any fallback from him if any of
my comments are slightly demeaning.

Stuart's
mother and Mrs Bourne seem to have built up a rapport, and as they're sorting
dinner, I hear them in the background, chatting away as if they've known each
other for years. Our friendship seems to be creating more friendships, because
Mr Bourne and Stuart's father seem to be getting on very well, too. It's almost
six when dinner is ready, and the ladies call us into the dining room. When I
see the rosewood table and the candelabra, a silly thought comes into my mind,
and I have to work hard to control myself. I'm imagining Alex sitting at it,
picking at his pig's trotters, and I determine to mention it to Stuart at some
time. I'll have to do it in private though, because I know he will wet himself
when I do. Or maybe he already knows what I'm thinking, because, as he sits by
my side, he gives me an almighty grin. I return it, and we begin to giggle, and
then it becomes stifled laughter, and when I see Stuart's shoulders shaking, I
know I have to relieve this situation before it gets completely out of hand.

I look
at him. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Tears
are streaming from his eyes when he answers. "PT?"

I nod,
and we out the laughter, and then get it under control.

Stuart's
father, with a grin on his face, who is sitting at the head of the table, looks
at his wife, who is sitting at the other end of the table, and then at Mr and
Mrs Bourne, who are sitting opposite Stuart and I, and says, "Something has
amused the boys. Now I know what you have to put up with, Leslie and Angela."
Then he looks at us both. "Behave! Both of you... before I put you on a Begbie
detention!"

Dinner
goes well, but I seem to be the recipient of most of the questions. It doesn't
surprise me; after all, that's what this dinner is about; my welfare. I've had
all week to prepare myself for what I thought might be asked, and by the time
dinner is over and we retire to the lounge, I reckon I've managed pretty well
to make my case as a poor unfortunate young man whose friendship with Stuart is
entirely platonic. In fact, at one point, I manage to embarrass Stuart when I
suggest to the others that he might have a fancy for the Lord-Lieutenant's
daughter, Eileen, because he often speaks about her. My reward from my lover is
a thump on the arm, and he tells me to keep my mouth shut.

Regarding
me joining the army, I manage to parry the question by saying it's one of a
number options I'm considering. Amongst the others is being a physical
education teacher, and I'm pleased when Stuart's mother comes down on the side
of being a PE teacher.

Stuart,
skilfully, turns the conversation to cycling.

He
looks at me with a straight face. "Have you got a bike, Michael?"

I
tease him. "It's a good job you didn't say - have you got a cycle, Michael, or
it's a good job you don't call me Mike."

Of
course, as I knew it would do, my comment reduces him to tears, and everyone
joins in the fun.

Mrs
Bourne says, "Never mind going to university, you should be a comedian,
Michael."

I
laugh, and give her a smile. "You should meet my brother. Now, he is a
comedian. Some of the things he comes out with kept my Dada chuckling for
hours."

Stuart's
mother puts her head back in her shoulders, something I notice she often does
when she wants to ask a question. "Dada? Is that how you always refer to your
father, Michael?"

Stuart
comes to my rescue, and relates the answer I gave him when he'd asked the same
question: that I always used the term because I wanted to retain the closeness
of my family ties. Mrs Begbie seems more than satisfied with the explanation,
and I can even see some sympathy in her face. And when Stuart has explained, he
turns to me with a smug grin on his face. "Unus pro omnibus, omnes pro uno."

I
scuff him on the arm. "I know, Clever Clogs. You should join the Vatican."

"Oh
yes; the question: does Michael have a cycle? Actually, no, I don't, but Alex
has a racing bike, and I use that when I need to. Why do you ask?"

"Well,
I've wanted to join a cycling club for a while, but Mother thinks I'm too young
yet. I just thought that if you liked cycling, if you'd join with me, you could
be my passport to joining one. I'm sure Mother wouldn't mind if you were with
me."

I
stare into his eyes. "Why do I get the feeling that I'm being used here?"

Stuarts
bursts into one of his giggles. "Well? Will you?"

"Don't
you think you should ask your parents first? If they say `yes', then I'll
consider it, providing I have the time."

Stuart
turns to his parents in turn. "What do you think? Mother? Father?"

Stuart's
mother looks blank, but his father has a grin on his face. "I think it's an
excellent idea. I used to be in a cycling club when I was younger. I loved it.
So, that's a `yes' from me. What about you, Darling?"

Stuart's
mother's face softens. "It's a `yes' from me, too. All you have to do now is
persuade Michael and his brother's cycle."

I roar
with laughter at her witticism. I look at her, and she's beaming. "We should
become a duo. We could make it to the top, you and I, Mrs Begbie." By the look
on her face, I know I've scored top marks for my remark.

Stuart
thumps me on the arm again. "Brilliant!"

I
thump him back. "Hold on, Young Master Begbie! I said I'd consider it. I'll give
it some thought, and let you know."

Stuart
grins. "That means `yes'. I know you won't let me down."

Now
I'm serious. I look him in the eyes. "No, you know I would never do that.
You're a special young man, and I'm glad I met you. I can't tell you how proud
I am to be your friend."

The
room goes quiet. My words have hit home to everyone. Even Mr Bourne knows that
my words are sincere, and have nothing to do with the sexual side of our
relationship.

**********

We
stand at the door and watch the car go down the drive, and then we return to
the lounge. Father pours himself another single-Malt, and a gin and tonic for
Mother. When we're settled, I look at them both. "Well?"

Mother
answers first. "He's a lovely young man. He has so much character, and a wonderful
sense of humour." Perhaps it's the few drinks she's had, or maybe she really is
moved to say, "I can't imagine anyone looking down on Michael. I actually felt
it was a privilege to be in his company." She looks at Father. "What do you
think, Cameron?"

Father
takes a sip of his whisky. Then he shakes his head. "I'm thinking like you,
Darling. I've been in the company of a lot of men in my time, and some, very
few, have a certain aura about them. It's indefinable, but it exists. Michael
has it. I don't think I've ever been so moved as when he said that he was proud
to be Stuart's friend. It came from the heart, and he wasn't ashamed to say
it." He looks at me. "I think Leslie Bourne was right. When you two were
upstairs, he said that he hoped we were in it for the long haul, because we
were watching the budding of a special life-long friendship. The important
thing to your mother and I is, how do you feel about Michael? I don't want you
getting involved in something so deep that you can't get out of it."

Mother
and father are seated together on one sofa, and I'm adjacent to them on
another. I go to them and push them apart, and sit between them. It's the first
time for a long time that we've been so close. I link both their arms. I look
up at Father. "I'm like you, Father, I don't rush into anything. I've thought
about everything you've just said, many, many times. I know there's a huge
class gap between us, but the friendship we have spans that gap, easily. I
don't know why, but it does. I can't really say that I would like him as my
brother, because from what I've seen of other families, brothers don't seem to
be too close, but in the literary sense, I'd love to have him as my brother.
But that isn't going to happen, so the next best thing is to have him as a friend.
And I want to help him get the best out of himself. He'll need that help, and I
intend to do everything I can to make sure he gets it. He needs a leg up in
life, and we can do that. If you want to, that is? I think he's more than
worthy of the effort."

Mother's
arm comes around me. "I think I gave birth to a saint."

I grin
at her, but I'm thinking to myself, you wouldn't think so if you'd seen me
in the bedroom earlier, Mother!

I'm
extremely happy as I lie in my bed in the darkness, staring into visions of the
events of the day. It's gone far better than I expected. I'd been worried that
Michael would have been out of place here, but the opposite had happened. I'm
having difficulty comprehending the metamorphosis of the shy person I know
Michael is, to the confident young man who has presented himself so well today.
I can tell that Mother and father have both taken to him, and he to them. All
this is important if my plans are to come to fruition. I'm not sure even
Michael understands what I intend for us: a life together filled with the same
love we now share; a love that is growing so fast and deep, that even I'm
having difficulty comprehending it.

Before
I met Michael, I was a cocksure boy. I now understand how utterly ignorant I
was. Love was a wispish dreamworld; an ignorant fantasy, but now, the
reality of the passion is an all-consuming emotion that is taking me to new
levels of myself. My schoolwork has improved tremendously because of it,
because I know that my education will play a major part in whatever Michael and
I become. Where, before, I was a truthful child, I am now becoming an artisan
at lying and scheming and plotting, even to the point that my parents are an
irrelevance. Yes, I love them, but they now come a long way behind in the
affection stakes where Michael is concerned.

And
then there is the other emotion that is driving me, at times, to distraction:
lust. I've tasted the forbidden fruit, and the satisfaction I get from it is
beyond anything I could have dreamed. Today, in my schoolboy room, in my
parents' home, I locked them out and offered my bum to Michael like a
nymphomaniac hussy. Why? Because once I experienced Michael inside me, nothing
is ever going to stop me wanting that again and again and again. There's no
logic to lust. Well, there's no logic to my lust, and I'm fully aware of it,
and I love the illogical desires.

I'm
tired now. It's been a long day; a wonderful day, and I'm in bed in our room.
Yes, it's `our room' now, because, as Michael had said: `When you go to bed
tonight, I'll be with you.' You are, Michael, and it was you who has just
brought me to two peaks of sexual passion. I love you, Michael. I can't imagine
my life without you anymore.

To be
continued...

Other stories on Nifty by John
Teller/The Storyteller can be found here.